


By Your Side

by TheBrilliantBrunette



Category: Westworld (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hospitals, Sunburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 23:30:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20938583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBrilliantBrunette/pseuds/TheBrilliantBrunette
Summary: Logan is found naked and delirious, stranded alone in Westworld. Lucky for him, you're there to comfort him.





	By Your Side

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I really hope you enjoy this, I had a hard time figuring out the ending but...I tried! Anyway, please leave your kudos and comments down below!

The bright fluorescent lights of the hospital cast an almost ethereal glow around the blue scrubbed nurses. Their white tennis shoes sounded on the linoleum flooring, signalling their coming and going throughout the building. A blonde haired nurse led you through the maze of hallways, her tight topknot like Theseus’ ball of yarn in the labyrinth.   
She stopped outside a light blue painted door marked “319” and knocked lightly, opening the door just a crack before she fully pushed it aside, stepped in, and gestured for you to follow. Almost immediately the beeping of machines filled your ears, the smell of sweat and antiseptic hitting you like a punch in the face.   
It took your eyes a few minutes to adjust to the dimness of the room, but when they did, your gaze landed on the red skinned, sleeping form of Logan Delos. He lay naked in a hospital bed, a white sheet pulled over his lower half to preserve some modesty.   
The nurse walked over to the bed and examined the screens while you stood awkwardly in the doorway.  
You shouldn’t have come, you thought, what right did you have to come?   
“Everything looks good here,” the nurse commented, “the burn specialist should be coming in about an hour, is there anything else you need?”   
You shook your head, “no, thank you.”   
The nurse nodded to you before side stepping around you and leaving the room, the door closing behind her a little harder than she probably intended, causing Logan to stir slightly in his sleep, a pained expression coming over his face as he hit a raw spot on his shoulder.   
He let out a whimper of pain and, without thinking, you came to the side of his bed, set your purse down on a chair, and gently took his hand in your own, his grip tightening around it immediately, as if he was begging you not to leave him.   
Hyperthermia, dehydration, second degree burns, delirium- and that was just what you could remember- all that had come from four days in the desert.   
It was a miracle that he was still alive.   
Logan had burn blisters and sloughing on his face, chest, arms, and you would gather that he had more on his lower half. His lips were dry and chapped, dead skin was sticking up across them, like translucent ghosts begging to be released from their mortal coil.   
Turning your gaze downward away from Logan’s face, you glanced down at his hand in yours, cringing slightly at the caked red dirt beneath his fingernails.   
Not a single place was left untouched by the world.   
On the chair behind you, your phone began to buzz inside your purse. You turned your gaze away from Logan momentarily to reach inside you purse and take a look at the text from Juliet you’d just recieved.   
Juliet had been frantic when her brother hadn’t shown up for the wedding ceremony. She’d been even more worried when he didn’t even make an appearance at the reception. It had been over a week since she had last seen her brother by then and, despite William’s reassurances that Logan was just “fucking his way through Westworld,” she still convinced her father to send out a search party for Logan through the park.   
“I’m coming,” was all the text read.   
Despite her hesitance, William had convinced her to not postpone the honeymoon, and she was currently half way across the world in Madagascar desperately trying to get ahold of the Delos private pilot to get home.   
“He’s alright,” you texted back with your free hand, “I’m with him right now, he’s sleeping, he’ll be okay.”   
You had known Juliet since the two of you were ten. She had been the most popular girl in fourth grade while you were the weirdo who walked around at recess pretending that the slide was a tower and the jungle gym a castle. The two of you only became friends after her mother died. You had been the only one from her class to come to the funeral, the only friend there for her at school when she would lose it and break down crying at lunch because the nanny hadn’t done her pigtails right and they were sliding down her head.   
You had been inseparable ever since.   
“I don’t care, I’m coming back,” was Juliet’s response, and you knew better than to try to argue with her.   
As much as she hated to admit it, Logan was her best friend, and she wouldn’t be Juliet if she didn’t rush to his side after he’d almost died in some make-believe world.   
“Alright, want me to come pick you up at the airport?” you asked.   
The three dotted bubble appeared on the screen quickly replaced by, “no, can you just stay with Logan?”   
“Sure, it’s no problem,” you responded.   
“Thank you, (Y/N),” Juliet responded, “you’re the best.”  
With that you put your phone back inside your purse and turned back to Logan, jumping when you realized that he’d awoken sometime while you weren’t paying attention, his glassy black eyes staring at you.   
“Something more interesting than me, princess?” he asked, his voice was dry and scratchy, but it still held that sarcastic, cocky attitude that he was famous for.   
“Logan,” you breathed, “you scared me.”   
“Sorry, sweet thing, waking up to your pretty face made me think I was still dreaming.”   
You rolled your eyes, “it’s good to know that you’re sense of humor is still intact,” you said, a small smile coming to your face only to fall as quickly as it had come when you saw Logan hit the same raw spot on his shoulder again.   
Logan took in a sharp breath of pain and his face contorted in discomfort. His grip on your hand intensified and you stood up and came closer to him, you free hand finding its’ place on his scalp, gently, your thumb began to smooth a relatively pale spot on his forehead in what you hoped was a soothing gesture.   
It apparently was, because in a matter of seconds Logan had relaxed again, his grip on your hand still firm but somewhat less tight. You paused for a second, wondering whether or not to remove your hand from his head, only to hear him quietly croak out,   
“Don’t stop,” he said, “please.”   
You nodded silently, amazed at how soft his voice was, almost like a whisper. How tender and delicate and...vulnerable he was being.   
None of that fit the Logan Delos brand that he’d spent his entire life crafting.   
“Are you alright, Logan?” you asked.   
Logan let out a snort, “you do realize where I am right now, don’t you?”   
You nodded, “I’m not asking physically,” you said.   
Logan was silent for a moment, but that answered your question just as well as any words.   
“What’s going on in here?” you asked, tapping lightly on his head to emphasize your question, “what’re you thinking?”   
Logan swallowed thickly, “I don’t wanna talk about it,” he said softly, his voice quivered slightly, and you thought that if he hadn’t been so dehydrated that he’d be crying.   
“It’s okay,” you said, “everything’ll be okay.”   
Logan closed his eyes and swallowed once more, you offered him a sip from the cup of cool water that sat on his bedside table. He took a few generous gulps before you took the cup away from him, the hospital staff warned you not to let him drink too much less it cause a seizure, and it broke your heart to see Logan’s confused and defeated face when you removed the glass from his lips.   
When you’d first met Logan, it had struck you just how beautiful he was. Even at his mother’s funeral, at the age of fifteen, he’d looked immaculate. All of that grandeur was gone now, replaced by the sad image of a broken man before you. Looking at him now, you thought of Lucifer, the beautiful angel, cast down and abandoned by God and left to suffer the fires of hell on his own.   
“Not too fast,” you said, “doctor’s orders not to over water you.”   
“What am I, a cactus?” Logan asked.   
You sighed, “well, you can be a bit of a prick sometimes.”   
Logan cracked a smile at that before closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the pillows once more.   
“Where’s Juliet?” Logan asked.   
“She’s in Madagascar,” you said, “she’s flying home right now, she should be here by tomorrow.”   
Logan jolted up right, the pulse rate monitor going wild and your hand flying off of his forehead. Pain and panic laced his features.   
“I missed the wedding?” he asked frantically, “how long was I gone for?”   
You nodded, too stunned to do anything.   
He grabbed your shoulders now, desperate for answers, his grip heavy with need.   
“How long was I missing, (Y/N), please!”   
“F-five days,” you stuttered out.   
Logan released you and began to try to kick off the blankets from the bed.   
“No, no, no, no,” he mumbled over and over again.   
“Logan,” you said, “you need to calm down and stop.”   
He didn’t listen to you, instead he began to try to pull out his IV lines.   
“Logan, stop!” you cried, reaching for the nurse call button and almost immediately the room was filled with three nurses each trying to push Logan back down onto the bed.   
“I need to get to Juliet,” Logan cried, “I need to tell her! I have to tell her!”   
Before he could say anything more, one of the nurses produced a syringe and stabbed it in Logan’s neck, almost immediately putting him to sleep.   
It wasn’t until the nurses left that you felt your cheeks and realized you’d been crying.   
\---------------------------------------------  
It had been just a little over six hours since Logan’s outburst, and you’d been by his side the whole time since. So far, the only other visitors to come were the burn specialist who examined him and confirmed that there would be minimal scarring, and a delivery man dropping off a “Get Well Soon,” gift basket from Logan’s secretary. Other than that, nothing had changed, Logan’s hand was still firmly in yours, his words racing around in your head.   
At first, you had discounted them as just the mad ramblings of someone who had just almost died, but, as you thought about it more, you realized that he had been completely, well mostly completely, sound minded since you’d arrived. It was only after you mentioned the wedding that he’d gone off, what was it about Juliet getting married that had filled him with that panic?  
Logan’s stirring is what pulled you out of your thoughts, and you quickly resumed your position stroking his forehead. The doctor’s had warned you that he’d be a little disoriented from the sedation when he awoke, but you thought nothing of it, you’d seen Logan high and drunk more than a few times over the years.   
His dark eyes opened once again to look at you.   
“(Y/N),” Logan said, “you’re still here.”   
“Cheryl sent a gift basket with chocolate,” you said, “it offered more of an incentive to stay.”   
“I’m glad you stayed,” he said, “I didn’t wanna be alone again.”   
Logan’s words caught you off guard. Rarely was he ever sentimental with anyone.   
“Again?” you said.   
Logan nodded, “in the desert when William left me,” he said, “I didn’t wanna be alone, I didn’t wanna die alone…”   
His words began to trail off and the shock of what he had just said spread throughout your body and sent a wave of emotions crashing over you.   
Confusion, denial, doubt, acceptance, pity, rage, before finally settling on determination.   
You reached to grab your phone from your purse when Logan’s grip on you tightened.   
“Don’t go, (y/n),” he said, “please, don’t go.”   
“I’m not,” you said, “but, we need to call the police…”   
“Do you promise you won’t leave?” he asked.   
You nodded, “I promise.”   
You were never going to leave him again.


End file.
